


A City's Smog

by Kakushigo



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: And there's no powers here, At best you'll get a kiss or two, F/F, F/M, Gen, I had fun, M/M, Please do not read for a pairing! They might be mentioned, but there's no focus on romance here, evil!AU, mafia, mob!au, someone trusted me with these characters and I'm abusing that trust
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-16 08:39:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3481628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kakushigo/pseuds/Kakushigo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Throughout the world, there are men and women who are far greater than the normal.  They are more intelligent, more creative, more ruthless than the average individual.  They could have turned their talents to good, but being an honest citizen is almost never as lucrative a business as being a dishonest one.</p><p>Self-made men and women, from places around the world, who have nothing in common except that people want them dead.  Wanted by the FBI, CIA, and Interpol everyone knew they would have to play nice eventually, they never assumed it would be now of all times.  Rifts between them are wider than ever, pasts that should be forgotten brought to light.  These are the greatest criminals of all times- from the blatant criminal Odinsons to the cautious Doctor Banner, and only an adversary as great as Hill and Fury could make them even think about laying their animosity aside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Iron Men

**Author's Note:**

> This is semi-historical fiction. The actual mob (called the Mafia, Cosa Nostra, and National Crime Syndicate) came from Italy and spread its roots in New York City. As one can tell, that's not quite what happens here. Howard Stark singlehandedly starts the mob in the United States, Odin starts it in Europe, and the Russian government was instrumental in creating the Triad(Chinese mob) along with the Russian mob. The Italian mob stays in Italy, firmly under Odin's thumb (along with most of Europe). The Black Hand still exists here, and New Castle, PA was, in fact, the seat of the Black Hand for a while. The involvement of New Castle Fireworks, Pyrotecnico, and Zambelli Fireworks in the Black Hand is completely author invention-not historical fact.
> 
>  
> 
> Also, this won't really focus on just 'one' character and their relationships. Everyone will get their slice of the story, which means we'll see a lot of the Stark Mob, simply due to majority of the characters either being loyal or trying to kill him. Eventually I hope to write a sort of prequel to this, detailing their histories, but that is later.
> 
> And essentially everyone is unrepentantly evil in here. Other warnings may be added as story goes on.

When you mention the name Anthony Stark in New York City, you get two reactions.  One of casual disinterest, because Mr. Stark is a businessman and one of note but not much else, and one of venomous hate, because Mr. Stark is the mastermind behind the New York Mafia.  An untouchable man, even if there was proof that he had shady dealings. But Tony covers his back far too well to ever leave behind evidence, because even the best of the brass are after his pocketbook.  No one could still his wrath, not even his loyal left and right hand.  People simply stayed out of his way.  The nameless, faceless terror he created was far greater than his actual presence.

All in all, there are five people who knows who Anthony Stark really is.  Two of those people, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, are loyal lieutenants of his.  Another, Charles Xavier, is a childhood companion and works from Manchester, New York to amass even more wealth in his name.  Of the last two, one man is dead and the other is on his way.  Nicolas Fury, known to many simply as "Fury", has been hunting the Starks for two decades.  After the tragic accident that ended Howard's life early, Fury has been like a dog on a beef bone with the younger Stark. Nothing could be proven, not until now.   
  


**International Headquarters**

**Stark Industries**

**New York City, New York**

"Rogers, where is Pepper?"  The police presence was a norm at Stark Industries, so the visitation of Steve Rogers, Sheriff.  To the common people, Sheriff Rogers was some sort of god-man, able to calmly negotiate with the most brutal members of the Iron Men.

Privately, however, it is a much different story.  "Wherever you told her to go, sir."  It is not a code, an honest query if Stark ever asked honest questions.

Tony sighed and swiveled around to actually face Steve.  "And why are you here?  I thought it was a three day conference?"

It had been arranged to last three days.  Steve had ended it halfway through the first, frustrated at how much others thought they could get away with on Stark's turf.  “It ended early, sir.”

“And everything was achieved?”  A lesser man would have been impressed, Stark merely accepted it.  His men were the best of the best, he gave them three days and they better damn well have it ready in two days.

Enough dead men to justify buying a graveyard?  “With minimal paperwork.”  Steve was the best, after all.

Tony offers a tumblr full of whiskey, Steve shakes his head.  “Good work."  Not praise, a statement.  "I guess that means James won’t need to be there for Friday’s Gala.”

“No, but it might be a good idea anyways,”  Steve replies.  Tony sighed again and gestured to the chair across the desk from his own.  Steve sat down in it, knowing what was coming next.

“Why?”  A fair question, and one Tony always asked.  Steve was grateful that he at least got this.  

Never tell the best news first, a lesson well learned, so Steve carefully replies, “Good publicity is never a bad thing.”  Now the good news, “Besides, I happen to know Agent Fury will be in attendance.”

Tony’s face does not give anything away, but Steve knows his boss well enough to know he is hooked.  There is one thing he can not resist and that is taunting Fury.  A weakness, if a man such as Tony could have one, but one neither Steve nor James mind catering to it.

"Arrange for me to be there."  Tony says dismissively.  Although Steve has just sat down, he knows better then to stay much longer.  It is a power play on Tony's part, one he does without realizing.  So Steve rises again, inclines his head, and leave the office.  Two of Tony's secretaries are waiting for him, looking nervous.  It is no secret that Tony Stark and Steve Rogers do not get along.  It has saved the both of them from many complexities that normally plague men who work like they do.  Steve nods at each of them in turn, looking stern faced.  James Barnes is leaning against one of the windows overlooking New York, smoking a cigarette.  He drops it into a potted plant when he sees Steve, looking innocent.

"Barnes!"  Steve barks.  "Stop lollygagging, we've got things to do."

"Sure, Sarge,"  that earns him a glare, it has been a long while since Steve was a sergeant.  "Did we get 'im this time?"  James falls perfectly into step with Steve as they leave.

"No,"  Steve replies, running an aggravated hand through his already mused hair.  "Do we ever?  Squeaky clean."  The two enter the elevator, and fall to parade rest as the bellman starts them towards the first floor.  

They are silent for the descent, stepping in time out of the elevator.  Nine other cops greet the two of them, asking some variation of the question James had.  Steve shakes his head before any of them can finish though, and they too fall quiet.  They know how much Sheriff Rogers wants to finally get charges on Tony Stark, some think it is a pipe dream-the man really is that honest, and others hope Steve can find something so they can learn to sleep easily again.  

Steve brings them out of the building with a sharp command to return to their cars and return to patrol routes, he is sorry for calling them out on a rumor.  They murmur their agreement, dispersing quickly, only James and Steve stay behind.  Steve gazes up to where he knows Tony is sitting, sipping his whiskey and planning for Friday.

"Come on, Rogers,"  James says, uncharacteristically soft, "let it be.  Maybe not one day, but someday we'll catch him."  

That is exactly what Steve is afraid of.  "Yeah.  You working Friday?"

James shakes his head, used to the topic change, "Should I be?"

"The Gala," Steve replies, "for the orphans, you know the one."  It is all the papers have been talking about for weeks, and James nods his head.  "Come, out of uniform.  I'll need someone I can trust to back me."

Steve takes a step towards his own car, but James's voice stops him.  "Be safe."

Steve laughs, "I always am.  See you Friday."

James nods, though Steve cannot see him.  Steve slips into his car, sighing once he is inside, he turned his radio on and the sound of Jackson 5's  " _I Want You Back_ " drifting through the car.  It makes him smile and the tension that had gathered between his shoulder blades eases.  Their plan is now perfect.

 


	2. Cirque du Sol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint is not proud of how he ended up in charge of this circus, but he would not trade it for the world. Money, he finds, can make or break men. He much prefers to be a made man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place on the same day, but a little later then the first chapter.  
> Did I mention this was a no powers AU? Because that's kind of important...  
> 2/7 of the big players met now.

In the world, there are a great many traveling circuses.  Some fall to time and decay while others rise to infamy.  And yet others rise to heights of glory, know for the death defying acts, for their mystifying contents.  The Cirque du Sol is one such circus, known to everyone.  Even the poorest of the poor scramble for a chance to attend this once in a lifetime circus.  Everyone knows the story of how the Cirque du Sol came to be, how it dragged itself from the depths of its debts to new soaring heights, setting the bar high for anyone who wished to follow in its footsteps.

And it was all due to one man: Barney Barton.  At least, that was the story the papers told.  The members of the circus recognized the real master of the circus as Clint Barton, younger brother to Barney and the real brain behind the whole operation.  But even the bravest of them would dare not whisper his name, Hawkeye was easily the most terrifying human to ever walk the earth in their eyes.

**The Cirque du Sol**

**Outside Salina, Kansas**

"Everyone, be prepared to leave tomorrow!" Barney shouted over the din of the dinner crowd.  That meant today had been their final performance at this location for a while.  "The trains will arrive tomorrow at 8 am, we start loading then!"  No one was paying particular attention to him, but Barney knew they would be ready to head out.  It was a requirement for the Cirque du Sol that one was ready to up and leave at a moments time.  Barney turned to duck out of the tent, duty finished, but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.  He tensed, knowing only one man who could touch him so casually and get away with it.  "Clint,"  Barney said, turning around trying to make some distance between them, "I didn't see you there."  Thankfully his turn had knocked his brother's hand off his shoulder.

Clint shrugged, managing to look casual and commanding at the same time, "Tell the trains to head East, we're needed in New York."  And that was it, the Circus Master left the same way Barney had been intending to.  That short conversation left him with an uneasy feeling, but Barney knew better then to question it.  The last person who had crossed Clint-well, suffice to say that Jacques was alive but it would have been better for him to be dead.  Though, to be fair, that had been Jacques' second offense and the first time Clint had been more then lenient, he had just taken the man's legs and the whole of the circus.  Clint had, in many ways, saved the circus but of course Jacques had not seen it that way.

But, Barney digressed, Clint's personal habits and methods were not his to wonder over.  He just jumped when Clint said to, moved when told to, and generally keep his trap shut.  It would lead him to a much longer and much happier life under his brother's thumb.  It also left him with more then generous amounts of money with which to pad his wallet, and the inescapable fame that came with being the on paper owner of the 20th century's most successful circus.

Oh, and did he mention the sex?  So many girls throwing themselves at him, what was a man to do but cater to all of them?

He might hate his brother just a bit for just about everything, but he could admit that the younger man had style and taste.  Except the purple, that was just weird.  

And that, Barney concluded, was way too much thinking for tonight.  Tomorrow meant he had to oversee a pack-up and move out, hopefully without a visit by the local brass.  Usually the Cirque du Sol was really well received, ever since 'he' had revived it, but that did not mean they did not get an overeager greenie sniffing around every once in a while.

They would never find anything, Barney thought with a vindictive grin as he lit up a cigarette and leaned against a crate marked 'Bananas-Handle with Care', Clint and the rest of them were careful.  And if they did find anything, the trails would lead back to Barney or to Jacques, never to Clint.  And as long as Clint was getting away with shit, Barney knew he would be bailed out before long.  He would not be 'owner' of the Cirque du Sol afterwards, but he knew Clint would have a job for him.  Clint never got rid of resources, not unless their upkeep cost more then what they produced and Barney was careful enough to keep his numbers well into the green.

Hadn't he just promised himself he wouldn't think?  Barney glared down at his stub of a cigarette, angry that he had been mulling over stupid Clint and the stupid circus that he missed the whole event.  You were supposed to enjoy your fag, not miss it because you started thinking about coppers and brothers.  

He dropped the stub, ground it up under his heel, just to be safe-they wouldn't be a repeat of the Wrigley's Fire- and stood up straight.  So they were headed to New York with bananas and oranges, weren't they?  Barney would make sure all of Clint's fruits got there in one piece, even if his brother's brain didn't.  He swore the kid's head had been scrambled since their dad had hit him over the head that one time and Clint had gotten real quiet for it.  That's why they came to the circus in the first place, two dead parents and no where to go.  Honestly, Barney was kinda worried about how his parents had died by now- Clint might not speak that often, using short phrases and notes more often then not, but the kid was vicious.  Their parents had died in a two person car wreck due to malfunctioning brakes, just a tad convenient wasn't it?

That thought let Barney know it was time to knock off.  When you were trying to paint a six year old (or would Clint have been seven, Barney couldn't remember anymore) as cold blooded murderer, you obviously needed a little sleep.  Tomorrow would be a new day, starting a journey to a new place.   Everything would turn out great for them if Barney trusted Clint, so he would.  Besides, the train ride would give him and Buck Chishold enough time to 'settle their differences'.  He needed a good fight right about now and Clint wasn't in the mood to provide it.  The kid had been ill at ease this whole week, lurking like a shadow at every performance.  Hell, he'd brought his bow everywhere and normally Clint was content to leave it in his tent, knowing no one would cross him.  The kid's obsession with the bow was unhealthy, but Barney sure as hell wasn't going to be the one who pointed that out.  His brother was well deserving of the title "The World's Greatest Marksman" after all, and Barney rather likes all his body parts in working order.

Finally happy with the events about to transpire, he plodded back to his own tent.  He wouldn't miss being in the middle of bumfuck nowhere for no apparent reason, but he knew some of the performers might.  Move out days were always a headache and a half, but at least there was light on the other side.  New York, there had to be something good to lure Clint that far northeast, and Barney was willing to bet it involved quite a bit of dough and pretty girls.


	3. Romanov, Romanov, Wherefore Art Thou, Romanov?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha's real name is Natasha Romanoff, but it has been a long time since she has been a poor farmer's daughter. Now she commands herself as a queen and takes whatever she likes. It is quite nice to have a name known yet unknown, even greater to know that as long as the world is ruled by men she can do as she pleases and never gets caught.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Master Pab's bar is a real bar in Russian, but I’ve never been there. Assume all dialogue is in Russian, because trust me, you wouldn’t want me attempting to write it in Russian. Just four more chapters until the action starts~
> 
> (The title of this chapter is of no purpose except my private amusement.)
> 
> And because I'm sure this'll confused everyone: names for the Romanov gang are pretty much going to change every single time they appear. You're welcome to try and keep them straight, but I'll only be saying who Natasha is every chapter. Yes, she seems out of character, but she's also playing a part.  
> Natasha Romanova= Analia Tskyvochi  
> End of chapter has a breakdown for those who don't want to wade through code-talk.

The Romanov family was left well enough alone by other criminals of the same class as them.  Odin let them have Russia, and they were, on paper, quite content.  But the business of the Romanovs was not quite like the business of their contemporaries.  They dealt in secrets, in government conspiracies, in whispers of hope and not so much the physical realm of blood, drugs, and people.  Oh, sure, they did a little of that on the side, but what they were best at was espionage.  Not even the most well secured government secret would stay a secret for long when a Romanov was sniffing it out.  And so they were not in Russia, no more then they needed to be at least.  

They are the best at their job and well rewarded for it.  The Romanovs did their business without being told, took their payment, and disappeared without being noticed.  Several countries never became aware of the fact the Romanovs had worked with them, but some might became aware that they had received intelligence from the Romanovas after the fact they had departed-with a significant chunk of the country’s liquid assets of course...

For the Romanovs, the idea that who they were today would not be who they were tomorrow was a fact.  The Romanovs hearkened only to one, the Lady Natasha, last of the Romanov family, the rightful heir to the Russian throne.

**Master Pab, Bar**

**Belgorod, Russia**

 The bar is noisy and lively, no one has attention to spare for the brunette in the corner drinking alone.  No one notices when she is joined by a blonde, either.  Had anyone bothered to pay them attention, the two friends would not have kept attention for long.

“Natalie, it is good to see you.”  Analia rose to give her friend the normal European greeting of a kiss on each cheek.  She sat down again rather quickly, sliding Natalie a mug of beer.

“And you as well, Analia.”  Natalie responds, taking a seat across the table. “What’re you having?”  She sounds perplexed as she taps the mug, watching the disturbance on the surface.  

Analia shrugs loosely, looking wholly unconcerned.  “Don’t remember.” 

Natalie made a noise of disapproval, but verbalized none of her thoughts.  

Analia grinned suddenly and said, “Oh, how I wish I could make it to New York to meet him.”  It seemed like a stilted opener, with nothing leading up to it, but Natalia ran with it anyways.

“Who?”  So many people it could be, of course, New York was well populated.  Natalia lifted her drink up to take a sip but set it back down without actually doing so.

Analia smirked, sipping her own mug, “Oh, didn’t I tell you?”

This prompts her friend to sigh, and slouch on the stool, “No.  Getting anything out of you it like pulling teeth, but with less reward.”

“Oh," Analia seemed to roll her eyes at her friend, "I’ve been exchanging letters with this man, his name is Jason Jacobs."

Which told Natalia absolutely nothing.  So she scoffs and demands, "And?"

"Well,"  Analia giggled, "He's amazing.  He keeps talking of New York as the shining gem of America.  It sounds so beautiful."

The typical American dream and Natalia glares, "But their summers?"  They both knew she was not referring to the actual weather.

She twirls her hair around her finger, sipping daintily.  "I'd suffer a thousand summers to bear witness to him just once."  She sighs dreamily.

Her friend's eyes widen in surprise, "You're in love."  The disgust in her voice is thick.

"Of course I am.  I think he feels the same."  Analia unwinds her hair from around her fingers and frowns at the mug.  "Wouldn't that be wonderful?"  There is a faint note of hope at the end.

By now, Natalia can do nothing but give in.  She holds up her hands for peace, "Did he give any inclination he wants to meet you?"  

"Oh, yes,"  her eyes practically sparkle with excitement, "but you see we're much in the same state.  Too poor to travel, such a travesty."  Her clothes match her statement: a workers uniform.  The bar itself was not high end either, but it caters to the working class.  A popular gathering club for after hours.

A head shake, bemoaning her poor companion's flighty head, "Indeed."  There is a moment of silence then hesitantly, "Who contacted who first?"  A very important question of course, but the stress of the words is all wrong.

Analia makes eye contact with Natalia, "He contacted me first."  She nods at the bartender, sliding him a few small notes.  He nods and disappears, then she continues, "His aunts wanted him to visit, so he was in Russia and we bumped into each other.  Such a _sweet_ American man, I couldn't help but stay in contact."  Her voice is a low purr, pleased with herself.

A horrified look is the first reaction Analia gets, then Natalia speaks, "Good luck to you then, I'll water your plants while you gone."

A nod from Analia, "Especially the cacti, they're delicate this time of year."  The bartender comes back, refreshing Analia's drink.

"Is that all?"  Natalia asked, discarding the untouched tankard.  The bartender quickly removes it.

Analia nods again, "It is indeed."

"Then I'll see you later."  Natalia replies, standing.  A quick kiss to each cheek and Natalia departs, leaving Analia alone again.  She sits for a while, nursing her beer.  Eventually she leave, unaccompanied.  

No one in the bar took any particular notice of this meeting or the two ladies' conversation.  Natalie and Analia were frequent enough visitors that their absence the next week was more noted then their presence on this particular day.  Such was their line of work, such was the fleeting nature of their identies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Natasha is heading to New York because she was contacted by Barton (Jason Jacobs) who has a job he wants to hire her for("New York as the shining gem of America."). However, since they were contacted first (a rarity-this is the 2nd time in the history of Romanov family), Natasha is warning her second that it might be a trap ("Of course I am. I think he feels the same." ) and not to trust anyone.


	4. A Green Arm for the Black Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce Banner has worked with the Black Hand and other syndicates. Only those who pay well can get his services, then they must continue to pay to keep him from giving it to someone else. He is his father's child, one of the shining gems of New Castle. Now though, the biggest names in the business want him on their side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I've said, the Black Hand is the real thing. Based on a real thing, but there's a lot of fictionalization going on as well. We're meeting Darcy and Bruce this chapter. Three more chapters of slow going introductions, then the party starts.  
> Also, this chapter is much easier then the others. There's no double facing going on, no double talk.

The Black Hand is known for its extortion rackets.  They are the best in the business, they have become a staple.  Other gangs pull off Black Hands.  They are a very public force, they have never hidden behind subterfuge or lies.  Not composed of geniuses, but made of men who will do anything to come out on top.  

While the Black Hand isn't necessarily composed of the best and brightest, they do know they need brains on their side.  That is where their Hillsville and New Castle forces comes in.  Hillsville trains the young and New Castle houses the rich and brilliant.  Bruce Banner is one such brilliant mind they pay well to keep on their side.  He works with the three New Castle firework companies, keeping the East and West branches of the Black Hand well supplied and wanting for nothing. 

**New Castle, Pennsylvania**

**Outside the Public Library**

It is raining, it is rather normal here. Bruce has lived here all his life, he does not remember many sunny days.  The town mirrors the feeling of its inhabitants, or so Bruce had liked to pretend.  He does not think about that anymore, a few of New Castle's more colorful residence have convinced him otherwise.  But rain is never fun, it's always dreary, dismal drizzle.  

Normally such weather would call for him to go back inside and call his driver, but he's waiting for someone.  She usually comes to walk him home when she finishes her shifts at the office downtown.  No soon then his thoughts finished then he spied the lady he was waiting for.  "Hello, Bruce." 

Bruce smiles, adjusting his glasses.  "Hello, Darcy."

Darcy offers an umbrella to Bruce and he accepts it, opening it and stepping into the downpour.  She is a rather new addition to New Castle, but one Bruce has come to adore.  

"How was the library today, Bruce?"  Darcy asks as they start walking.  It was not necessary to walk, Bruce owned a car, but despite the weather it was relaxing to walk.  Plus it meant more time in Dacy's company.

Bruce smiles at her, "It was good.  I got a lot of reading done."  When he isn't working for anyone, he spends a lot of time at the library, reading and learning.  There conversation continues as they walk, friendly and flowing. The two of them find themselves talking of all sorts of things, from their friends to their work.  Darcy is a receptionist downtown and Bruce is a chemist, he just neglects to mention who exactly uses what he creates. 

His steps falter as they approach his house though, because there is a sharply dressed man reclining on his steps.  He exchanges concerned looks with Darcy before walking to his front steps.  He is in front of her, ready to protect in case it's an angry associate.

The man looks up at the approaching footsteps and smiles, "Mr. Banner?"  His voice is low and pleasant, but Bruce doesn't take assurance in that.  Lots of people who look harmless aren't.

He gives the man a sharp nod, "That's me."

An inclined head, and a plain white envelope offered.  "A letter."

It's not a summoning style he is accustomed to, but it's hard to mistake.  Someone is hiring him.  "Thank you, sir."  Best to be polite.  Always be polite until you knew what you were dealing with and could blow it up.  The man, thankfully, takes his leave without replying.  He walks away and Bruce takes note of his walking style, never knew when these things could be important.  It is an upperclass walk, but there is an underclass tone: either pretending or fallen from glory.  Seeing who his favorite contract makers are, he would bet on fallen from glory.

But now is not the time to think on that, he unlocks his door and opens it.  Darcy never comes in, though he has offered it many times, so Bruce just goes with their standard fair.  "I guess this is good-bye, Darcy."  His smile is not just for politeness, he does enjoy her company.  She is an enigma he does not have to solve, a puzzle for the enjoyment of the puzzle and not a race against time.

She smiles back, eyes looking a little strained.  "Don't say good-bye, that makes it seem like forever.  Say see you later."  Not the standard good-bye, but Darcy has always been sharp.  She must have noticed something off about the whole thing.

"Very well, I'll see you later, Darcy." He extends his hand and she takes it in a firm handshake.  Her hands bear the callouses of a typist

"And I will you see you later."  The handshake lingers a bit, but it drops eventually.  "Drop by my office sometime, don't get to lost in your lab.  Though mad scientist is looking good on you.  You're looking less like death warmed over."  It teasing, Bruce knows that fond affectionate tone anywhere.

"Thank you?"

She laughs, his temporary mission is completed.  "It was a compliment."

"Very well."  He smooths out his his tie, finding his words rather hard to come by now.  "Give Jane my greeting as well."  That is socially appropriate, right?

"Hah, soon she'll want to meet you."

Bruce rather doubts it, Darcy has been threatening him with Jane's presence for a couple of months now and so far nothing has happened.  "Well, I don't suspect I'll be going anywhere soon.   She's welcome to come over, I'll have my cook whip something up."  Mary Agnus would be happy too, she loved it when Bruce has guests over.

"I'll think about it."  Darcy hums, practically bouncing with energy.  She seems to have fully recovered from the slight episode earlier.  "Next time we run into each other, then?"

"Of course."  He, quite honestly, cannot wait-Darcy is one of New Castle's highlights.  She offers him another smile before turning around and leaving.  Bruce watches her go then looks at the letter and sighs.  

Now to see what his job asks of him, because this might not be the normal way they contact him but even the Black Hand can learn a trick or two.  He looks around, noting the house's untouched state.  The maid has not been by then, not that Bruce really expected her to be.  He hangs up his coat, and tests the weight of the envelope.  Heavier then his normal mail but in appearance no different then his normal correspondences with the Black Hand.  A particularly thick letter then? Because there are no powders, no explosives.  He picks up his letter opener and neatly slits the top.  The contents of the envelope he spreads out over the table.  There is a short letter, done in the way of his employers, and another envelope.  It is marked with a stylized X that Bruce would have to ignore the world to not recognize and a single canceled stamp.  The address has been firmly scratched off the front and there is no return address.

The Black Hand has sent him instructions pertaining to a letter Xavier's Men have produced.  With a small sigh, he unfolds the Black Hand's letter.  It is as short and to the point as normal, detailing his price and what they would like him to do.  There is even a phone number in case he would like to negotiate.  A good thing, seeing as they wanted him to visit the information broker.  Xavier is well known, not only by the world's underbelly but by the world's elite; nothing happens without Xavier knowing it.  Knowing now what to expect, Bruce opens the second envelope.  This envelope is luxurious in the way the other simply was not, the letter is written on parchment carefully penned with excellent calligraphy. 

It is an invitation.  To one of the Xavier parties.  Bruce has only ever heard of them, but he knows that some very expensive information is acquired and sold during them.  Everyone, from the Iron Men to the brass to the common man goes to them, but only by invitation.  Bruce has, by being a contract of the Black Hand, been invited to partake in one.

He cannot say no.  _Well_ , he thought wryly, _looks like I am leaving town for a bit._


	5. Brothers in False Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A death in the family causes divides not easily mended. Family flees from one another, vows are made, and life goes on. Time cannot heal all wounds, only make then less apparent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After this, only two more intro chapters. The main heroes(?) are next then we have the final mob family. Action will finally start shortly thereafter, sorry for such a lengthy intro.

The Odin family has always ruled Europe's underground. From England to Sweden to Germany, they all knew the Odin name and feared it justly. Odin was a powerful man, as was his father before him.  Upon his death, however, came to light a starting secret about his youngest son and heir to his empire.  Loki was not Odin's blood son, but rather an adopted son.  Thor, who had no wish to be a criminal, was the only blood relative of Odin left and was forced to assume the head of the empire, as was the way of the Asgardians. Enraged by this presumed betrayal, Loki fled Europe, heading towards the Americas.  He would eventually find a foothold in Canada, taken in by a group of Eskimos.  It was there that he would meet Logan Howlett, known to the locals as Wolverine. 

Together the two men plotted, promising pain and destruction on those who had betrayed them.  For Logan was no mere man, but a former man of repute.  He had belonged to one of the most prestigious syndicates Canada had to offer, but he had been betrayed by members higher up then him and left for dead.  The two of them would form the syndicate known as the Frost Giants, known for the clever wordplay and viciousness.  No one crossed them, not even the Canadian government.  They made their debut in a blunt way, killing leading members of the KH, the same syndicated who had betrayed Logan, and claiming the remaining members as their own.  Shortly afterwards they destroyed a large shipment of Asgardian wares, a war declaration between mobs. 

In his European villa, Thor mourned for his brother, knowing no challenge against the Asgardians could go unanswered.  And so started one of the longest, bloodiest wars the Frost Giants and the Asgardians would ever fight in. Brother against brother, a born crime lord against a man who wanted simplicity.

**Newfoundland, Canada**

**Logan's Cabin**

The sun was not yet up, but the cabin was lit up with soft light and the residence were moving about.  Logan was preparing the sled for a ride south, the first snow was bound to come soon and no one could run a criminal empire from a ice locked cabin.  Loki, on the other hand, was still in his bathrobe.  Up and cooking, but not yet changed to leave the house.

"Is that pancakes I smell, bub?"  Logan asked, stomping the snow off his boots.

"Yeah, if you get in here quick enough, I'll even let you eat a few of them."  Loki replied, not looking up from his cooking.

Logan snickered, removing his boots and jacket.  "You're sure a criminal.  Keeping you outta the kitchen is a goddamn sin against God."

"Shut up, you wolf." It would be an insult, if it wasn't for Loki's tone of voice.  Besides, this was hardly the first time Loki had referred to him in such a way.  "Keep talking like that and I'll be feeding you to everyone else."

Logan offers him a grin.  "As long as I get my ten second warning..."  

"Yeah, yeah.  Everything packed up?"  Loki asked casually, like this was just a small excursion into the city.

Logan was used to his _friend's_ tendency to understate things, "Yep."

"Good.  We'll leave as soon as you've eaten."  Logan eyed Loki's lack of dress but decided not to question it.  If that was how Loki said it was, that was how it was going to be.  
This whole thing did remind him though, "We got a message last night."

Loki doesn't even thing that deserves his attention, he's more focusing on what he's cooking. "About what?"

"Xavier's little shindig."  Loki does look up at that and Logan swears the little ice imp is gonna break his neck one of these days whipping his head around like that.

"What?"  He demands, voice raw.

Logan holds up his hands.  "You heard me.  Xavier called, wanted to know if we were coming to the party."

"Will they be there?"  Loki didn't even have to say the name, Logan knew well enough who he was talking about.  That was why they'd banded together in the first place, Loki's fucked up family politics.

"Seems like it."  Logan isn't gonna lie, but this Xavier's thing-it's a real step up for people like them.  Anyone who is somebody will be there, doesn't matter if you're legit or not.  "Apparently, the New York City brass will be showing up specifically to place a bid."

"What tidbit of information does Xavier have that they're willing to pay for?"  Loki asks curiously.  Logan shrugs as he tucks into the pancakes.  

"Dunno.  Heard it has something to do with the Iron Men though.   I'm not looking to poke my nose in that kind of business.  Can't fight a war with everyone at once."

"True,"  Loki admits, drifting out of the room.  Thankfully, the cooking is done.  When it comes to planning, Loki can get a little absent minded about everything else.  It's had its bad moments, but most of them are good moments.  "But you could always get them to fight a war with each other."   And Logan thinks Loki sounds way to gleeful about that.  

"Sure,"  Logan admits, "but only if you get dressed so we can get outta here before the big freeze.  Ain't gonna be any fun planning wars with our interesting bits fallin' off."

Loki's chuckle reverberates throughout the cabin,  "Oh, don't worry, darling, I'll be nice and ready."  Logan rolls his name at the endearment, but it's not the worse he's been called and it is rather funny all in all.

Logan has put away most of his serving and he knows better then to touch what is Loki's, so he pulls on his winter coat and heads outside.  Might as well get the dogs ready for the trip they're going to take.  Loki will be ready in time and Logan isn't a fan of testing his _friend's_ patience. 

**Helsingbor, Sweden**

**Odin's Ville**

There is a feather light tap on the door to Thor's study.  "Come in," he commands, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice.  He had done nothing to earn the timidity everyone approached him with and it infuriated him more then anything.

The door opened a crack and a lithe servant stepped in, heavily laden with dish.  "Mr. Odinson, your meal is ready."  The servant bowed, somehow not upsetting the dishes.  It was quite a skill.

Once the servant has righted themselves, Thor waves them over to his desk.  "Thank you, any news?"  Heimdall was always sending news through servants, no matter how many times Thor told him not to.  Thor didn't mind the occasionally disobediance, he just wished Heimdall had chosen something a bit more sane to protest.

The servant quakes, even as he unloads all Thor's food, Thor gives him a curious look and he swallows, bowing again.  "Another shipment lost, sir." 

It is like they think they will be struck.  But Thor knows that though he is the bearer of bad news, it would be far worse to know this. "The Frost Giants again?"

The servant nods quickly, "Indeed."

To be expected, no one else ever challenged Thor. "And Xavier?"  The information dealer's dogs had been hounding him for a while, Heimdall had said he was trying to deal with him.

The servant twisted in on himself, trying to present a smaller target.  It would be funny if not for the fact Thor had no intentions of hitting anyone.  "Refusing to sell unless you come to the party."

Thor shakes his head, Xavier's American audacity was strange and not all that unwelcome.  It at least gave him something to look forward to, compared to more news of his brother's exploits.  "And leave Europe?  Not happening."

"He seems to think you can still be persuaded."

"By what?"  Thor would not move from here unless he had to.  No information, no monetary sum, could change that.  Xavier might be the information broker of America, but he held no sway here.

"Information, apparently."  The servant was practically quaking in his boots at this point, unaccustomed to the questions.  One would think that Heimdall would train his messengers better.

But Thor smelled something interesting, so he pressed on.  "What else did he offer for my attendance?"  Xavier would not throw a hook without bait, perhaps Thor could nab the bait and avoid the hook.

"Not your attendance, this year,"  Heimdall, having come to fetch his messenger, said as he approached, "merely the Asgardian presence."  He gives a small bow and moves to stand between Thor and his servant.  Presumably to spare him from Thor's temper.  It's been years and people still act as though he is his father, prone to rage and rash action. 

Thor shakes his head, "Strange Americans."

"Indeed."  Heimdall agrees.  There is a beat of silence where Thor realizes that Heimdall has nothing to say.

"I believe we can spare a man or two, though." He address the servant through Heimdall,  "Get Sif."

"Yes, my lord."  The servant bows again and all but bolts from the room, Heimdall trailing after him.  Thor can feel a headache coming on.

Sif, thankfully, appears swiftly, her footfalls light on the marble floor.  "You rang?"  She leans against the door frame, arms crossed.  Going by her outfit, Thor assumes he pulled her away from practice.  At least this will not take long.

"How do you feel about New York?"  If Xavier wanted a Asguardian, he would get one.  If it was a trap, then it would be the last trap ever set.  People never liked facing Sif twice.

She shrugs, "It's a fine enough city, I suppose."

Even if Sif had not wanted to go, Thor would've insisted.  She probably would've caved eventually, especially if he brought alternative suggestions to send in her stead.  But Thor wanted Sif, he trusted Sif more then any of the others.  "Pack your bags."

Sif does not so much as blink.  That is why Thor likes her, she's prepared for almost anything and everything she isn't prepared for still does not phase her.  That and she was a one woman army when he needed it.  "How many days?"

He does a few quick calculations and answers, "At least three."  That is the minimum that Xavier will allow someone to stay and he prefers it when they stay with him for a week or two.

Sif nods, takes a bow, and leaves Thor the same way she came to him.  Thor watches her go with a pensive look.  He careful pushes his chair out from the desk and moves over to the wall where a map hangs.  From his desk he brings a fountain pen and carefully adds another tally-mark to the side of map.  There are other tally-marks, in green and red, along with a few notes here and there.  It's all speculation on Loki and his gang of thieves and the tally-marks kept track of who was winning the war.  For now, the green marks outstripped the red ones, but it would not forever be so.  Thor worried about his brother, even now after years of separation.  If he could not keep himself from the all seeing eyes of the Asguardians, he was doomed to die by some overzealous member of the organization.


	6. SWORDs and SHIELDs, Oh My!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They are a special task force specifically trained to neutralize the Mafia, they are the best at their job. But their best simply never seems to be enough, especially when they are fighting against the Iron Men, the Asgardians, the Romanovs, or the like. The 'gods' of the Mafia have eluded them for years, but no longer. Fury promises to end their reign of terror soon. And he does not care who he has to go through to do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter of introduction! Aren't you excited? And I had so much fun muddling with the history here. ^-^ Hope you enjoy.

There have always been miscreants and degenerates in the world.  It is a simple fact of life that they exist, but they have never been so powerful before.  Every country recognizes that something needs to be done about these devils, someone has to take care of them.  But world leaders and military strategists want nothing to do with it, instead they create organizations to do it for them.  And they have gotten smart, these groups do not pay tribute to a single person or country, they belong to themselves.  They are not bound by international law

First, Interpol was created.  Bound to no one country and answering to all.  From Interpol, there were two splinter organizations: SHIELD and SWORD.  SWORD was the offensive hand, based in Europe.  SHIELD was the defensive hand, it was based in the US.  Each was composed of individuals  of the highest caliber who had been trained their entire life to fight crime.  They lacked a country identity and owed allegiance only to their leader, Nicolas Fury.

**A private island off the coast of California**

**Interpol Headquarters**

"No."  Fury held up his hand, stopping the agent before they'd even opened their mouth.  "I don't want you to tell me anything yet.  I need to hear from them, both of them, before I hear your part."  It would be better if he heard the modified story first, then the true story.  It would allow him to parse who was lying and who wasn't.  And it was always better when one did not have to lie to the lairs.  

"Yes, sir.  As your wish, sir."  The man salutes him sharply and fades into the darkness.  Fury leans against the chair, staring at the only photo on his desk.  It was a incredibly posed picture, from a newspaper, of Tony Stark, Howard Stark, and Maria Stark.  It had been taken a few months before the former two had died, leaving everything to the young Tony Stark.   Including the family business, the Iron Men.  Fury just doesn't have any proof, not yet.  

The phone rings, Fury picks up.  He's been expecting it.

**Washington, District of Columbia**

**SHIELD (Specialized Holding and Interrogation of Elite Larcenists Division) Headquarters**

"Repeat that, please.  I could've sworn you just said there was a break out." Coulson was the epitome of controlled, but any moment that mask would crack and he'd get vicious.  It had taken SWORD a long time to capture those mafiosi, Coulson did not want to be responsible for losing them.

The man was quaking in his boots, but Coulson wasn't feeling too sympathetic.  "I'm just telling you what I was told to.  It's not my fault the news is bad."  They had spunk, Coulson would give them that, but weren't to smart.  It was hard to believe these idiots had been bred to hunt the mafia, they hardly had a brain cell between them.  It was infuriating to deal with them. 

"Very well."  Coulson was nothing if not amicable.  "Get Hill and Fury on the line.  We need to talk."

They swallowed and Coulson thought they should be mentally reviewing their will if they had even the smallest spark of intelligence within.  Neither Fury nor Hill would be happy to hear this.  "Yes, sir."  The man leaves, then returns shortly afterwards, mass of black cords trailing behind him.   He sets about dialing the numbers necessary to talk to Maria and Nick, while that is going on Coulson fills out the incident report.  This isn't going to repair itself, but Coulson is a damn good fixer, that's why Fury wanted him to be at the helm of SHIELD. 

The line connects, and Fury's voice reverberates through the line.  "Yes, Agent Coulson?"

"Hello, Director Fury, Director Coulson."  Hill greets milliseconds behind Fury.

Coulson puts on his political smile. It might not be necessary for a telephone call, he still feels better wearing it. Not all shields are physical after all.

"Director Fury, Director Hill."  Coulson greets politely, "There's a bit of a situation."

Hill answers first.  "What do you mean?"

There's no reason to hide it, so Coulson is as blunt as possible.  "We're missing our prisoners."

Hill's laugh sounds odd when distorted through a telephone, but that is clearly what is emanating from her line.  The static like laughter disappears as quickly as it comes and she snarls, "You had one job, Coulson."

If they were in the same room, Coulson would be terrified.  There's an ocean between them though, and Hill always prefers to get her hands dirty.  "And I did it to the best of my ability."

"Your best wasn't good enough!"

"Enough, Director Hill.  Agent Coulson, what went wrong?"  That explains that discrepancy at least, Director Fury must've decided to demote him after this incident.

Coulson glances over the papers on his desk, reviewing the facts just to be sure.  "There was a break in that became a break out.  All SHIELD agents within the facility died trying to contain it.  They did manage to make a significant dent in the number of escapees and the five most dangerous were killed before they could escape."

"It could've been worse."

"Sir, it could've been much worse."  And that was in Coulson's very humble opinion. 

"Go over what went wrong, make sure it can't happen again.  We're closing in on Iron Man, his Captain, and his Soldier.  We can't let the same thing happen to them."  In Coulson's humble opinion, he didn't see the reason.  Fury wanted to kill Iron Man, and didn't really care about the Captain or Soldier, why would the prison matter? 

But Coulson didn't verbalize any of that.  "Yes, sir."  That was the safe answer and Coulson was know for that.  He always made the logical choice, the safe choice, the sane choice. 

**London, England**

**SWORD (Specialized Workforce Offensive- Retrieval Division) Headquarters**

As soon as the conference call was done, Hill was planning.  "I want Fury on the phone, now."  Hill snapped.  "And only Fury.  I don't want to hear from Coulson."

"Yes, ma'am!"  The soldiers saluted and scattered, heading to the communication boards. 

Fury's voice was in her ear.  "Hill?  What's this call for, we were talking not that long ago."

"But Coulson was on the line,"  Hill replies, "and I don't trust Coulson.  He's been behaving oddly lately."

"I am aware, but it does not affect his performance."   Fury never trusted anyone.

"He lost all the prisoners, sir, that's definitely a performance issue."

"I disagree."  Hill had expected a lot of things, but not for Fury to disagree.  "All prisoners are tagged, they'll head back to their hidey holes and we'll be lead right to them.  It's perfect.  I'm only sad that the five killed were high up in the Iron Men, I would've liked to see where they went.  I know it wouldn't lead us to Tony, he's too smart for that, but we migh've gotten one of his bases anyway."  

"So you turned this situation to your advantage."  Hill was not surprised by that bit at least.  "That doesn't mean he hasn't screwed up."

Fury sighed.  "Look, Director Hill, I understand where you're coming from, but Director Coulson won't be demoted nor will he lose his job."  That made her blood boil.  If that had been her, she would've lost her job.  "Don't worry about Director Coulson, do your job.  I want the Iron Men and I want Tony Stark.  That's your job."

"And when Coulson loses them for you?"

"We'll discuss that then."  There was a click, and she knew she'd been hung up on.   But Fury had given her orders and she would follows those orders.  At least they were easy enough. 

"Agent McSweeny?"

The agent appeared, saluting her superior with a snap.  "Yes, ma'am?"

"Does Fury still have those tickets to Xavier's party?"  Hill had a few ideas of her own.  She captured con men like this, the Iron Men were just the next big thing.

Agent McSweeny nodded.  "Yes, he does."

"Very good."  Hill smiled, pleased to see that this would probably work.  "Acquire them, we're going to a party."  No cop worth their salt would use the Xavier party to hide a bust, but Hill wasn't a normal cop.  She ran SWORD and Xavier should fear her.  And the Iron Men won't be on the streets of New York City for longer, soon the world would be rid of him and his ilk.  Her plan, and Fury's plan probably, was coming together perfectly. 


	7. Old and Expensive, Like Fine Wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter of the exposition. Next time you see a chapter update, you'll get a not necessarily crazy action but at least a little bit more then this character building. Meet Xavier's crew, the X-Men. The players are all set and the heads start rolling.

For all intents and purposes, the Xavier family was not a mafia. It was an information syndicate. Sure, they did a few other deals on the side but their primary purpose was information flow. They knew things and sold that knowledge to the highest bidder. The subject of the secret might also choose to outbid those who wished to find it out, but rarely could that happen. It was quite the lucrative business and it put Charles Xavier in such a position that the government found it better to simply leave the X-Men alone and let them do their thing. It helped that everyone in power had their own dirty secrets that they would rather not see given to the world.

Professor X and his X-Men, the most knowledgeable people in the world. If a man so much a breathed wrong, The Professor would know by the end of the day, or so the stories went. He knew people were sick before they knew, he would figure out who would not make it through the day over his breakfast tea. He was the spider in the middle of the web, every person under him a vibration in his perfect web. A web spanning not only the United States, but also South America, Europe, Africa, Asia, and the rest of North America.

The way to get a good deal on the information the X-Men possessed was to be invited to one of Charles Xavier’s elite parties. But the guest list was small and to be on it you had to be powerful.

**Xavier Mansion**

**Westchester, New York**

“Charles.”

The exasperation in Erik’s voice made Charles smile. “Yes, Erik?” He did not have to look up from his work to know Erik has his arms crossed and was frowning.

“What are you doing?” Most people would have put the emphasis on _are_ or had no emphasis at all. Erik always put it on _you_ , calling Charles out.

What a loaded question, but that was why Charles had picked him to be his right hand. “Planning a party.” Funny, Charles used to hate parties, now he threw some of the most spectacular of them.

“In the dark?” This was punctuated by the snap of fabric and the room being flooded with light. The curtains, Charles knew, were being abused by Erik. “And I’m talking about the guest list, Charles.”

“We,” by which Charles meant himself and sometimes Erik, “invite the elite.” It was about the money, about the connections, nothing else mattered in the long run.

Erik could, to a certain point, get that. “There are several members of SHIELD on here.” Technically FBI, but Erik knew they belonged specifically to the branch groups of SHIELD and SWORD, organizations designed to take down mafia families. Which the X-Men were, even if they kept their very illegal dealings on the low down.

“They’re elite.” Charles replies, careful not to change his tone. He has plans. “Actually, best customers of last year.” For a government agency dedicated to being bringing down mafias they sure poured a lot of money into them. “Plus, if they ever manage to outbid Iron Man, that’ll be the single largest transaction in the history of the X-Men.” But it would also mean Xavier would have to destroy them, the use of the Iron Men was far greater than the use for the FBI.   Plus he had grown up with Tony, Steve, and James-there was more between them then most brothers.

“You have Fury on this list.” Again with the accented _you_ , it was like Erik blamed Charles for everything.

So Charles looks up, showing how unconcerned he is with this and telling Erik to drop it. “Yes, he was rather adamant he be included.” And Charles was giving Fury what he wanted for now, softening him up for the knife in his gut later.

So Erik took it upon himself to be the sane one of the two. “He wants to take you down.” He would not drop it, not as long as Charles was in danger.

Not to worry, Charles knew there was someone to fill his shoes. Jean Gray would do, if Erik refused the job. “He’s welcome to.”

The glare Erik leveled at Charles would have made anyone else quake in their boots, but it just made Charles smile. “Charles.” The voice was one part fond, one part exasperated, and one part angry-all in all the standard Erik package.

“But it wouldn’t be in his best interests.” Charles continued. “Now, Erik, a little help?” Erik sighed, glare disappearing, and came over to wheel Charles out from behind his desk. The wheelchair made it difficult for Charles to do much on his own, but Erik tried to alleviate the burden of it.

They made their way down the hall with various members of the X-Men shouted their morning greetings. But they path was slightly derailed by one of the telephone rooms’ open door. Inside was a beautiful blond haired lady in a very comfortable blue robe. She was Charles’ sister, Raven Xavier, and a good friend of Erik.

She waved them in, smiling the whole while. The phone was on its rack, but they both knew that meant very little. “Morning, Charles, Erik.” She picks up a glass and gold teapot. Suspended in the honey gold liquid is a half-way open black flower. Two cups of the liquid are poured, one has a single cube of sugar and a small drop of sugar and the other is left alone. She offers the one that has sugar in it to Charles. Erik prefers coffee, so she does not offer it to him.

“Morning, Raven.” Charles replies, taking the proffered cup of tea.

Raven shakes her head, “Mystique as of…5 minutes ago. Sorry, I’m working with the Ice Giants, they refuse to come if Asgard is coming.” Mafia politics, Raven would hate it except it manages to keep her on her toes. Nowhere else could she expect death threats before the mail, it was perfect. Not what she would have seen herself doing a while ago, but not something she would trade for the world.

“This early?” Erik asks, apparently not caring that he has been up for several hours already. He woke up at 5 am to help Charles with his morning routine and it was now approaching 7 am.

Raven laughs, knowing she had a late start compared to most X-Men. “This is late for them.” They were based far up in Canada that they had weeks of complete darkness and complete light.

Charles inclines his head to his sister, taking sips of his tea. “We’ll leave you to it, then.”

Raven drinks some of her own tea. “Hank is in the kitchen right now, if you want breakfast. I think it’s pancakes and grits.” She had just had toast, clearing out when Scott appeared. Emma and Jean have become tired of his little game and have taken to ganging up on him, she will not be getting in the middle of those three anytime soon.

“I’ll take the Professor there directly then.” Erik says and Raven nods, turning back to the phone when it rings. She picks it up and starts talking quickly. The two leave her to her business and continue on their way, making progress towards the kitchen.

It is not long until the wood paneled hallway turns to tile and gleaming chrome. In the middle of the kitchen, ending to the large stove, is the X-Men’s chemist, Hank McCoy. “Morning, Hank.” Charles calls out as Erik maneuvers them through the morning mess.

“Professor!” Hank replies enthusiastically. Then he turned around from his task at the stove and saw who was with Charles, his grin seems to grow. “And Erik. Pancakes or grits?”

With well-practiced ease, Erik places Charles at the head of the table, a place purposely left without a chair for Charles’ use. “We’ll both be taking pancakes.” Erik answers for them. “Need a refill?” The question is directed at Charles who has begun to absentmindedly play with his tea cup.

“No, I think Mystique’s tea will suffice for now. The news?” Erik gives Charles a sharp nod and sits down beside him.

The news refers not to the newspaper, but rather to the undergrounds going ons. “The Iron Men are coming, three at the very least. The Cirque de Sol said it was coming and bringing along the Romanovs, as you requested.” That had been their price for the information of where to find the Romanovs and they had delivered. “The Black Hand is sending five delegates.” Unusual, but with what was going on with the Black Hand right now, not unexpected. “Either the Ice Giants or the Asgardians are coming, but not both.” Not unless Charles wanted a bloodbath. “The FBI is sending three: Fury, Coulson, and May. Smaller families such as the Makinors, Jazzowaks, and Ilasa are bringing delegate groups of 10.” The smaller the family, the more they felt they needed to show off at the parties. Well, except for the FBI-they likes to send only a few agents in case the incident of 1965 repeated itself.

“Maria couldn’t make it?” Charles asked lightly.

Hank twisted around to face Charles. “It’s unusual enough that they send us two of their higher ups, hell we consider it lucky when we can get one of them.” The FBI was notorious when it came to protecting their own, especially from influences like the X-Men.

Charles knew all this, though, he just had to ask the right questions to get his men thinking. “Why?”

“Coulson isn’t loyal to the ideals,” Erik says, mind working a mile a minute connecting dots, “he’s using SWORD to help the Cirque. He works for the Cirque de Sol.” That actually made sense, though Erik would have never thought of that ten minutes ago. Coulson was the obvious plant, not Fury. “I don’t know who his contact in the Cirque could be, but maybe it’s Trickshot?”

“We don’t know?” There is something sharp and dangerous in Charles’ tone

He dips his head in contrition, “Apologies, Charles.”

“Find out.” He doesn’t like not knowing things. He should’ve known the very first day Coulson went turncoat, because the man had been faithful to SHIELD’s ideals five years ago. Something had changed, and Charles needed to know what it was.

“I plan to. The party is the perfect opportunity.” Erik explained. It would not save him if he truly made an error, but it might give him some time.

Charles was content to let the subject drop for now, “Has Clint come forth to us as the actual leader of the Cirque?”

“No.” Erik admitted, somewhat reluctantly. “But it’s not animosity or any need to hide his identity from us. His brother does enough that we’d have to negotiate with him anyways.”

“And Tony?”

“Is bringing along Steve and James, as you requested. They cannot come by officially, they’ll be coming with the New York City Police.”

“There’s six that need to come, I don’t care about the rest.”

He makes a note of it, “Names?”

“You’ll know when the time comes.”

“Charles!”

“Your pancakes are done.” Hank broke in, all too familiar with Charles’ antics and how easily irritated Erik could become with them.

“Thank you, Hank. They smell wonderful. Don’t you agree, Erik?”

He grits his teeth, annoyed at Charles non-answer but also knowing that right now is not the time to press. “Of course.” Best just to play along and wait for the right moment.

The sound of many feet on wood is all the warning the three men get before a group of children, the oldest only 15, come barreling into the kitchen. They ignore Erik and Hank, crowding right up to Charles. “Charles!”

Charles laughed as the youngest child climbed up on his lap. “Hello, everyone.” He ruffled the child’s hair fondly. “How’s your morning been?”

“Good, prof.” Jubilee chimes. “If Scott comes by, don’t tell him were we are.”

He shakes his head, more amused then anything. “Okay.” If Scott did not figure it out himself, then he was not worthy of the title of X-Men.

“Bye, prof! Bye, Mags!” Most of the kids scatter quickly, but of course Lannie stays curled up in Charles’ lap and Kurt takes a seat at the table. Everyone else had probably already had breakfast, but Kurt still hasn’t adjusted to the time change.

“Will wonders never cease.” Erik said dryly, referring of course, to the nickname the children had seen fit to bestow upon him.

Charles grins at Erik, “I think it’s cute.”

“Please, Charles.”

“Very well.   Paperwork?”

“Eat,” Erik orders, “then paperwork.”

“But Erik…” Charles trailed off at the look in Erik’s eyes. “Fine.” At least the food was going to be good. Say whatever you want to about Hank, but he does know how to cook.


End file.
